


Self-Help

by Zedrobber



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Drums timeline, End of Time AU, Hobo!Master, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trauma, potential triggers for mention of eating/food, the Doctor's magical healing telepathy, the Master's issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 09:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14517021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zedrobber/pseuds/Zedrobber
Summary: The Master is back- but something isn't right with him; he's burning up his own energy, constantly hungry, and more insane than the Doctor has ever seen him. And he's blonde! But how can the Doctor learn to help him- or even accept that he may be like this permanently, after knowing how happy they have been in so many lifetimes? Sometimes, you have to look to the past for guidance. Literally.Short fic, a sort of End of time AU which has the Master locked in the Doctor's TARDIS and has none of the events of the finale.





	Self-Help

He remembered times where it hadn’t felt like a constant battle. 

Well, that wasn’t  _ quite _ right; there was the good kind of battle- the matching of wits, the schemes and the chasing and the foiling of plans- but it had been easy, in a way. They fought and they won and they lost, and at the end of it all they were still friends. Still able to look each other in the eye. They visited, drank tea, laughed and kissed and made love- it was strange, even though a large part of what they had done was much more like  _ violent fucking _ , it felt- it always had felt- like making love. They had turned the other way while one of them escaped, play-acted shocked and appalled, and grinned at each other like naughty children.

 

But that was then.

 

This Master-  _ his _ Master, he supposed bitterly- was a broken, angry, terrified creature who lashed out in blind pain and fury at anyone who came near.

_ The drums, _ he had said, and the Doctor knew now what that meant, had heard them thundering through his friend like a call to war. He hadn’t believed him, not really, until he’d heard that incessant beat. It had been better when he hadn’t.

And now his friend- his everything- was burning himself up and hurting and screaming, punching the walls of the TARDIS while the Doctor sat on the stairs and watched over him. 

 

And he had no idea how to help. He’d come back  _ wrong _ , so very wrong somehow. The Doctor didn’t remember ever seeing him like this, not in any regeneration, not even when he’d been being consumed by that Cheetah virus. He’d always been able to-

 

Wait.

 

He clambered to his feet, ignoring the Master’s rage for the moment, and set about pulling levers and pressing buttons, aware that what he was doing was probably more than a little stupid.

_ I can’t ask myself without some probably not good timeline-related issues….but I can ask him. _

 

-

 

“Where are we?”

“I’m going out for a minute,” he replied, as calmly as he could though his hands were trembling. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

“You always leave.” The Master eyed him speculatively. “I’m  _ hungry.” _

“There’s food, you know there’s food, Master. Please. It’s right there, look?”

The Master shot him a betrayed and shockingly vulnerable look, and the Doctor turned from it, locking the door behind him as he left.  _ Coward, _ he heard the Master’s mind accuse him from the other side of the door, and the Doctor knew he was stood with his forehead pressed to the wood. He leaned his own head against it from the outside, feeling that familiar connection even through the pounding.  _ Sorry. _

  
  


“And to what do I owe this dubious pleasure?”

_ Oh. _ He’d forgotten, after all that, the real reason he was here. 

 

Slowly, he turned from the TARDIS, feeling all the blood roaring through his veins with terrible urgency. Why was this so hard? He’d seen this Master more than any of the others, spent several lifetimes meeting him again and again. Surely it should be easier-

 

And then he saw him, and all his thoughts and concerns and fears dissolved, leaving him crying like a child because yes, this was how it was supposed to be, the immediate connection of their minds like a waterfall, cool and soothing and clear. The Master- immaculate in black velvet and black gloves, pale and dark like stark lines of sunbeam and shadow- was looking at him mildly, curious and tentatively pushing with his mind, but not overly concerned or agitated. The Doctor was unable to stop himself crying, feeling it welling up from somewhere deep inside him that he hadn’t known existed, and before he could stop himself he was on his knees, reaching up towards the leather-clad hands of this familiar Master.

 

“My dear Doctor,” the Master said,finally with something approaching alarm. 

 

_ He knows, he knows me he  _ **_knows_ ** _ me!  _ his mind sang, exultant. 

 

“Whatever is the matter?” He reached for the Doctor without hesitation, dropping gracefully to his own knees to pull the Doctor to him, fingers stroking through his hair soothingly and repetitively. Finally, the Doctor was calm enough to pull back, embarrassed and red-eyed. The Master produced a silk handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to him with absent familiarity. 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s quite alright. No, please keep it,” he added with faint horror, as the Doctor attempted to hand back the rather used handkerchief. “Would you care to explain why your TARDIS is in the middle of my console room? I do have plans tonight, you know.”

“You don’t want to know who-”

“My dearest Doctor, I would recognise both you and that awful heap of scrap you call a TARDIS in any body, in any universe. I’m more concerned with  _ why  _ you-this you, anyway-just crashed into my home.” He paused, hesitating for the first time. “And you may wish to be quiet, if you don’t intend to cross your own timeline today.”

 

“What do you-  _ oh.” _ He remembered nights like this. Remembered spending the laziest of hours in the Master’s TARDIS, lounging in predictably silky bed sheets, eating cakes and biscuits and drinking endless tea in between less predictable bouts of sex. This Master in particular had always seemed delighted with each new Doctor, revelling in their differing tastes in the bedroom.

 

“Quite,” the Master said, clearing his throat and getting to his feet fluidly. “So if you wouldn’t mind-”

“I need help,” the Doctor said abruptly. “You’re the only one.”

“What with, might I ask? Is your precious Earth in danger yet again? How simply awful for you.” He did not sound particularly like he meant it. “I’ve told you before, I’m not one of your little  _ friends-” _

 

“You. I need help with you.”

 

The Master glanced towards the TARDIS, frowning for a moment as his mind reached out beyond the Doctor. “In there?”

“Don’t-”

“I’m not a fool.” He paused. “There’s something...what’s wrong with- me?”

“I don’t know. The Timelords, they did something to him. Put this  _ noise _ in his head, like drums, all the time, it’s always pounding and screaming and-”

“I can hear it.”

The Doctor sagged in relief. “I miss us,” he confessed. “I miss how we were, you and me, you remember? Well, you don’t need to remember, it’s still happening for you, isn’t it? Stupid of me. But him- he and I, we’re not-”

“Friends.”

“I mean sometimes- sometimes I speak to him and he listens, he really  _ listens _ and I can see I’m so close to getting him back, right there on the edge of something beautiful, something so glorious- but it slips through my fingers and I can’t- I can’t reach him properly.”

“You’re not listening to him then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t you hear him, Doctor? He’s screaming out for you, every second he’s alive.”

“All I hear is the drums.”

The Master shook his head, not unsympathetically. “What do you think he hears?”

Shamed, the Doctor lowered his eyes. 

“He needs you to listen to  _ him _ . Let him in.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the Master laughed, a short, amused huff that made the Doctor smile automatically. “But then, you’ve never been one to manage  _ that _ too well, have you?”

 

The spark of strangely good-natured mischief in the Master’s impossibly blue eyes made the Doctor’s breath catch in his throat, the smile dying on his lips before it was fully formed.  _ Oh, but you’re beautiful, I remember you, I remember your hands- strong, strong and warm, possessive and burning and so sweetly cruel, I remember your lips, the way your mouth quirks around certain words and the way your smile isn’t quite even, the way you taste-  _ and the memories were so sudden and immediate that he groaned aloud before he could control himself. 

“I should go.”

“Indeed,” the Master agreed, helping the Doctor to his feet gallantly. “I have….business...to attend to myself.”

 

“Heinous and terrible business, no doubt,” the Doctor said, amused.

“Of course. Although not until tomorrow.” The Master paused with his hand on the Doctor’s arm. He looked at the Doctor, piercing and calculating, and the Doctor was helpless to do anything but take the full force of that gaze, the weight of the history between them immense and infinite. 

 

“Doctor-”

Impulsively, the Doctor took the Master’s face in his hands and kissed him. It took only a heartbeat for the Master to return the kiss, fitting himself against the Doctor in a way which only they could do; regardless of the vessels that held them, they were the same every time, the same two souls calling out for each other across the stars. This Master’s kisses were familiar; the Doctor’s mind remembering the way he tasted when this body, these lips, could not. He felt the Master’s hands slide around his waist, possessive in a way that made him groan into the kiss, and before he had had his fill - though he could never have his fill, when the Master was concerned- it was over, both of them breaking away, breathless and aroused. 

 

“I need to-” the Doctor said, haltingly, glancing back to his TARDIS.

“Indeed.” The Master smiled at him, but what was clearly meant to be an insufferably smug expression was lost under the hungry look in his eyes and the cacophony in his head that rumbled through the Doctor’s mind in a stream of  _ mine, mine, so beautiful this one is, want more, want-  _ though he was clearly trying to hold himself back.

 

“Well, my dear Doctor. I wish you luck,” he said finally, clearing his throat, and stepped back, breaking the spell enough for the Doctor to nod and will himself to move towards his ship. 

“Thank you,” he said at the door, frowning. “For-”

“Yes, yes, no need to be quite so polite,” the Master said, raising a hand in a brief farewell. “After all, it’s hardly as though your Master won’t remember being me. It’s never goodbye, not with us.”

 

The Doctor grinned. “And that’s the best part.” He slipped through the TARDIS door. “Oh. And you might want to avoid cheetahs, by the way. For the foreseeable future.” Leaving the Master frowning at him, he shut the door and locked it behind him.

  
  


“Where are we? Who was that?” the Master- his Master, his beautiful, strange Master- said immediately, crowding the Doctor against the door. 

“I was asking for help,” the Doctor shrugged, touching the shoulder of his friend. “Did you eat?”

“Yes. I’m hungry.”

“I know.” 

“I’m not your pet,” the Master muttered, eyeing him balefully. “You can’t just leave me food and then  _ fuck _ off for the day.”

“I wasn’t gone long.”

“And you smell different- you smell of someone else. No, you smell of me. But a different me. Was that who was trying to touch my mind?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The Doctor scrubbed a hand through his hair, gently moving the Master aside so he could reach the console. As he set coordinates, he thought how best to answer, frowning at the controls in silence and feeling the weight of the Master’s gaze on his back.

“Do you remember,” he asked finally, pulling the last lever, “how it used to be?”

“What do you mean?” the Master asked, sighing irritably. 

“With us.”

“Yeah, I remember the endless tea parties and ridiculous outfits. What’s your point?”

“Come here.”

“Why?”

“Just- please, Master. Just once, let me-”

 

The Master came towards him, sullen and frowning, fingers tapping out that incessant rhythm against his leg, over and over. 

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said. “I stopped letting you in. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. Please-” he reached his hands out to the Master’s face, drawing their foreheads together. There was a moment of resistance from the Master, his mind struggling against the connection, and then the Doctor opened the threads of their shared link fully for the first time since the Master had come back. Immediately the Master sagged against him with a gasping, desperate intake of breath like he’d been drowning, and the Doctor had to stop himself reeling back under the onslaught of the drums, guilt crashing through him at the obvious, heartbreaking relief the Master was radiating. His fists were bunched tightly in the fabric of the Doctor’s coat, caught in a silent battle between pushing him away and dragging him closer, and succeeding in neither.

 

“Doctor-” he breathed, hot against the Doctor’s face.

“I’m here.”

_ It hurts.  _

_ I know. Let me help. I can share it. _

 

The Doctor braced himself against his friend’s shoulders, and, with a steadying breath, allowed the last defences of his mind to fall, the noise of the drums crashing into his own head like a tsunami. He gritted his teeth and took it, strengthening the connections, bolstering his own mental walls to be able to take the constant noise and muffle it as best he could. 

There was pressure in his head like he needed to pop his ears, throbbing and dull, and he forced himself past it, barely even breathing until the last blocks were in place and he could sense the flow of energy between them steadying, relieving the pressure almost instantaneously.

The Doctor groaned in relief. 

_ What did you do? _

_ I told you. Shared it. _

The Master’s fists uncurled in a careful, slow, almost tentative way, smoothing the Doctor’s coat with his fingertips absently as he pulled back, frowning as if in concentration. He looked warily at the Doctor. “Why?”

 

“I should have done it as soon as I knew. I was a coward. I am a coward.”

“Well, yeah.” He narrowed his eyes, squinting as though looking into the light. “It feels... better.”

“You’re welcome,” the Doctor said with a small, wry smile.

The Master laughed, a short bark that was barely more than breath. “Always want gratitude, don’t you? You get off on it.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” 

“Good.” 

Carefully, the Doctor touched the Master’s face, caressing it with his thumb in a heartbreakingly tender way that made the Master’s breath stutter. But it was when he slid his hand around to gently encircle the back of the Master’s neck that he saw a traitorous tear slide down his friend’s cheek. 

“Master?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m-”

“And stop apologising. It’s tedious.”

_ Listen to him, _ he remembered suddenly, and he closed his mouth, biting back the babble of meaningless words that threatened to spill out to fill every silence.

There was a tense silence while the Master paused, tense, as though waiting for something. Finding nothing; or perhaps, finding what he was looking for, he nodded.

“Thanks,” he muttered, not meeting the Doctor’s eyes.

The Doctor tightened his grip on the Master’s neck a fraction, pulling him closer so that he could kiss him carefully, as though  he was a wild animal that might flee at any second.

The reaction was unexpected and glorious; the Master seemed to jolt awake as if after years of sleep, his hands burying themselves in the Doctor’s hair and gripping tight. He kissed the Doctor back, fierce and possessive and vicious, and the Doctor allowed himself to be swept away with it, laughing into the kiss and grabbing at the Master’s clothes, needing him closer, needing to feel his heartbeats against his chest.

 

They were breathless when they broke apart, and the Master was laughing too, a flash of the child he had once been dancing in his eyes. It was  _ good  _ laughter, the Doctor thought; healthy and bubbling out from delight and wonder, not the strange, cracked laughter of his madness. He pushed gently at the Master’s mind, found it bright and swirling with colour again after so long being dark and deafening. 

The drums were still there, inevitable and insidious although quieter, and the Doctor knew instinctively that he hadn’t fixed anything, not truly; but he  _ had _ made it easier for the Master to think again, to have moments of freedom from the burden of bearing the noise alone, and that was worth the Doctor enduring anything in this universe. Everything else- the strange way the Master was burning up his life force, the constant hunger, the  _ wrongness  _ of his existence like this at all- could be worked on together.

 

_ Thank you, _ he thought silently to the other Master, somewhere behind this timeline and enjoying the time with his own Doctor.

 

“I remember, you know,” the Master said suddenly, jolting him from his thoughts.

“What?”

“I remember you. When I was him. I couldn’t, before, with the-” he tapped out a  _ da-da-da-dum _ rhythm against his head. He scrutinised the Doctor with his head on one side, frowning curiously. “I remember-”

“I think that’s enough of that,” the Doctor said, alarmed.

“We kissed!”

“I don’t recall-”

“You  _ liar,” _ he crowed, delighted. “We kissed and you were  _ hard _ and I knew-”

“Please stop-”

“Oh you little  _ slut! _ Is it just any of us that does it for you, Doctor? You see a Master, and whoops, your cock is out-” He sounded utterly thrilled to be able to mock the Doctor so easily, and the Doctor couldn’t help but smile at it, feeling no malice from his friend, just gentle ridicule.

“Alright, maybe I was a little bit enthusiastic-”

“A little?”

“A lot.”

“Ooh, you hussy. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

“Takeaway?” the Master asked hopefully.

“There’s food in the TARDIS!”

“No there isn’t.”

The Doctor eyed him.

“I ate it all.”

“Master-”

“Even the plates.”

“....”

“I’ll order Chinese.”

 

\----

  
  



End file.
